


The Magic of Hope

by DragonaireAbsolvare



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthdays, Bookstores, Christmas, Gen, Magic, New Year's Eve, Pre-Hogwarts Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonaireAbsolvare/pseuds/DragonaireAbsolvare
Summary: A lonely little boy finds a book in the second-hand shop.





	The Magic of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I do not lay claim to anything except 'Bats and Baubles'. The Harry Potter universe belongs to J K Rowling, who broke the Statute of Secrecy and braved the Wizengamot to give us Muggles a glimpse of her wonderful world.

He loathed the Children’s Section. It was misleading, the stories there. And brightly coloured.

Life was never colourful, it was black and white. It was dull, and people were pathetic. There were no happily-ever-afters.

Besides, he was far too old to be reading such immature fairy-tales. He was past that age where he wished for his father to arrive on a flying chariot to rescue him. He was also past the age where he wished for his father (or anyone, for that matter) to come for him. But he did not doubt for one moment that he was special, and different from the snotty, puking brats that filled the orphanage.

He was charming and beautiful, and the younger maids at the orphanage snuck him treats. He was the top of his class, extremely intelligent and perceptive, and teachers sung his praises like larks.

But it couldn’t be helped, he was only eight years old, and the orphanage expected him to pick something up from that particular section. The matron had sent the new help to observe the children and guide them to ‘age-appropriate’ reading material.

A particularly bright book caught his eye, the paperback cover emblazoned with a Christmas tree and fairies dancing around it.

_‘Bats and Baubles: A Do-It-Yourself Festive Decoration Guide, by Holly Hatcackle’_

Intrigued, he flipped through the pages.

To his amazement, the book came to life, its pictures dashing about and festive songs echoing in his ears. Out of shock, he shut it, and the songs stopped. The pictures stopped moving as well. Curiously, he opened it again, and began to read.

It did not seem to be an average children’s book, counting the complicated sentences and Latin phrases (it certainly sounded Latin, from what little of the language he had learnt at church) so he assumed the store must have took one look at the cover and placed it in the section.

The new help called for the children to return. He quickly turned the book over and checked the price tag. It was quite expensive for a second-hand book, and not exactly in pristine condition either.

Reluctantly, he put the book back in its rack and left the bookstore, trailing after the other orphans. Christmas was coming, and so was his birthday. It was not as if he looked forward to either, but the matron gave him a small allowance on each day. Adding up that to his little savings would be enough to buy that strange book.

On New Years’ Eve, the boy crept out of the orphanage and made his way to the second-hand bookstore, rushed to the Children’s Section and scanned the shelf for his prize. It sat on the top shelf, conveniently out his reach.

“Need help?” The bookstore owner asked kindly.

“That one, Bats and Baubles.” He pointed at it.

The lady laughed pleasantly and took the book down for him. “You’re the first to ask for that book, you know. It’s been with me for a few years now. Picked it up along with a box of queer journals at an alley side.”

But the boy wasn’t listening. He held the book tightly, exhilaration flooding through him as he felt warmth emanate from it at his touch, like it was finally where it belonged. He quickly paid for the book and ran back to the orphanage.

The matron caught him, and sent him off to his room after a good lecture. Birthday or not, he had broken the orphanage rules, and would not be allowed dessert that night. Tensions were still there although war hadn’t broken out. It was not safe to be wandering about the streets.

Back in the safety and seclusion of his room (no one was willing to room with him, and he preferred it that way) the boy opened the book and began to read.

The book spoke of several festivals like Christmas and Easter, the ones he had heard about, and others he hadn’t, like Eclipses, Samhain and Solstice. There were lists of ‘spells’ that supposedly eased up the process of decorating, and certain festival-specific flowers and creatures.

The boy was amused to see spells for mimicking blood-and-gore as decorations for Halloween, and another to craft an orchestra of skeletons.

Definitely not children’s reading material.

He flipped to the pages of New Year and Birthdays, and looked for interesting spells.

_“Lumenosphaera.”_

He whispered, hoping that the room would light up with fairy-lights, like the book said it would.

Slowly, tiny balls of light began to pop up one by one inside the room, often clustering in space and changing colours. He watched the lights, _his lights,_ dance around the room and felt a floating feeling of joy.

_“Cantus Noctis”_

From afar, a choir was singing Ode to Joy, and the boy rushed to the window to look. There was nothing there except the snow-covered streets, which meant that the singing was also his...? Overjoyed, he began to try out several other spells, until his little room was decked out in all the colours of the rainbow, the otherworldly choir was singing his favourite music pieces, and an invisible orchestra was accompanying it. Mistletoe crept along the ceilings and golden flowers hanging overhead puffed out showers of stars. Tiny tinsel fairies waltzed on the floor and the boy spun and leapt, sparks dancing off his fingertips.

It was almost like... magic.

Was it? Or was it only a dream?

He dared to hope.

A serpent slithered from under the floorboards.

_“You’re disssturbing me, ssspeaker.”_ It hissed.

The boy stopped to smile guiltily at the snake. _“Sssorry.”_ But he did not stop dancing, and the snake watched him, almost sighing.

Normal boys could not do this, he was sure. They could not make music out of thin air, nor make orbs of light fly around. Normal boys could not talk to snakes. But then, he was no normal boy. He was special.

“Happy birthday, Tom.” He sang to himself, giddy. The choir followed, singing birthday greetings to him. The baubles he had hung in the air burst into shimmering stars, and the tinsel fairies flew around him before dissipating.

It was a long while before he exhausted himself, and fell asleep. The snake threw one disapproving glance and slid back into its hole.

The boy slept with a smile, a protective arm around his precious book.

Morning came too soon for him, and he scrambled for his book, opened it, and cast the spell for the choir again. He waited with hope, his breath caught in his throat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Vivadi’s melodious notes flew out of their seraphic throats, and the boy sat still in reverence. He was the happiest he had ever been. That night had been real and true, and not a dream! It did not matter if no one believed him. Magic was real.

He was special.

He was meant for a greater destiny.

Magic was where he was home.

A few years later, when he packed to leave the orphanage for the last time, he found the brightly coloured book under the floorboard.

“Bats and Baubles.” He read fondly, fingers brushing the cover with the Christmas tree and its dancing fairies. The book was carefully wrapped in cloth and placed into his trunk.

There weren’t many things that boy, now a man, called his most treasured possessions. He was a man who did not set much store to worldly objects, and as he embarked on his journey to change the world, the book was only a small trinket, nearly forgotten.

And nearly forgotten it was, the darkest secret of the Dark Lord.

In another instance frozen in time, was the leaps of an ecstatic orphan as he danced to the magic choir under holly and mistletoe.

~***~


End file.
